British Logic
by teaandcharcoalforbreakfast
Summary: America and England are bored in a meeting with their bosses. Very bored. England, being the erotic ambassador and all, comes up with an "obvious" solution: hand jobs under the table. USUK. Smut. Unfair amounts of fluff. Deannon from the Kink meme.


Ignore fail title. Ignore it. Anyway, I managed to finish before I went back to work, YAAAAAYYYYYY! Even if I can think of nothing to say in reply to a review, I still adore every single one, so if you loved this, please drop me one. I love mail very, very much (not at all an attention whore. Nope)

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><p>England lamented the day that the nation's bosses had discovered their ability to understand the feelings and opinions of every single person living in their country. He'd thought that that would have been obvious. After all, they were <em>nations <em>and what defined nations other than a collection of ideals expressed by a group of people? It should have been no surprise that they would express the same ideals that their people did.

Well, apparently it was a surprise, because as soon as that news broke they stopped being used as super-soldiers and were kept safe and stuck in meetings all the time. It wasn't even always world summits or G8 meetings or things like that. Sometimes it was as boring as just sitting with their bosses, not saying anything while the "grownups" talked about trade and diplomacy, only there so that they could okay whatever the blasted politicians said. And honestly, it was a twisted scheme on their bosses' parts. After all, once old men were drawling on and on about trade policy or something for four hours, England didn't want to fight with them about anything and then they could claim that they were technically listening to the people.

To make it worse, at the moment it was just his boss and America's boss. It was the first time he had actually seen his lover in months, and they were being forced to sit silently side by side and listen to their bosses blather on about something or other (truthfully, England wasn't even bothering to follow along).

America looked over, an expression of utter agony on his face. The poor boy had the attention span of a squirrel, so he must have been in his personal Hell right then. After all, there was only so long that weak coffee (although England had opted for the weak tea instead) and occasionally over-sweetened pastries could keep one entertained, especially since their bosses no longer allowed them paper to take notes (they had banned it after the two of them had used an entire ream of paper playing hangman and planning what sort of lewd things they would do once they retired to their room for the night). Normally, England wouldn't have passed up an opportunity to make fun of the boy for not being mature enough to care about even his own politics, but England couldn't bring himself to give a fuck either. So instead, he gave America a sympathetic smile and patted his hand beneath the table.

With a sigh America pulled his hand away in favor of using it to prop his head up as he stared out into space, leaving England's hand sitting just above his knee. Suddenly, the Briton was struck with an idea of how to keep them both entertained. Now remember, it was only because he was bored! It wasn't like he was really desperate or anything, it was just the only way that either of them would have anything to do until their bosses shut up.

He began to rub his thumb in small circles over the side of the younger nation's knee right where he knew he liked it. America stiffened.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

England blushed but kept his expression even and pressed one of the fingers of his unoccupied hand to his lips.

America raised an eyebrow in an unsaid, _"This isn't like you, babe." _

England looked away and thought, _"Desperation breeds perversion," _the stock phrase he always used when his lover questioned the raunchy filthy things he initiated after they had been separated for a long time.

But he was desperate for something to occupy his time, not for America. What did it mater that nearly half a year had passed since they'd last been able to make love or even speak through something other than a phone call or video chat? England hadn't missed him one bit. Why would he miss being annoyed all the time, especially when he could still hear that irritating voice once a day during the calls America insisted upon (he was so dependant, really). Besides, there were plenty other people to warm his bed, and they both understood that their relationship was an open one. He had definitely been with other people while America was gone! It wasn't like he woke up every morning missing having a big, heavy, smelly body holding him, especially since it didn't make him feel like he was the most precious thing in the world and was protected from anything the world threw at him.

In the same vein, it wasn't like he'd been a little bit disappointed when their bosses had insisted starting the meeting right away instead of allowing them to go back to America's apartment so England could get settled in and have clichéd romantic sex that he did not in any way shape or form enjoy.

Well, they'd have plenty of time for a hand job or two from the way that their bosses were going on.

England began to run his hand up and down his lover's thigh. He had to give the other man credit; He didn't jump or shiver or anything. He simply gave England the worst death glare that the Cold War had taught him. The older nation continued to look away and stare at America's boss, who was speaking at the moment.

He slid his hand between America's legs to rub his inner thigh, just below his groin. The larger man immediately pressed his legs together, trying to get England to stop. England just slid his hand in and out from between those lovely muscular thighs in mimicry of intercrural sex. He stopped for a moment to lightly glide over America's crotch to gauge how much he was enjoying it in spite of his paltry resistance. To his immense satisfaction he found that the boy was at least half hard already.

England began to rub right over his partner's cock, ignoring the continued glaring in order to take a sip of his terrible tea. The older nation reasoned that if America really minded he'd push him away. Instead, he had an adorable blush on his face and was getting harder and harder. Part of England had wanted him to push him away, so that he could stop and maintain some of his dignity. However, that part of him, that disgusting filthy part, that truly made him the erotic ambassador made him continue and enjoy every moment of torturing the boy like this. He slowly slid his hand up to where America's trousers ended and carefully worked his belt so that he could get it open without alerting their bosses.

Once that was done with, he grabbed hold of America's zipper. He looked back, just once, to see if America was going to make him stop. The larger nation was just sitting there, stiff as a board in more ways than one. Slowly, carefully, England pulled it down and was relieved to find that it made next to no noise. He walked his fingers back up to the button and traced it.

It felt as though the waistband was under a little bit more stress than usual and a small excursion north proved that America was carrying a tad more weight about his middle than normal. He was pleased to feel the yielding flesh beneath his lover's shirt instead of the washboard abs he was usually presented with. I-It just meant that he was right, after all, about the boy's unhealthy diet. It didn't mean that he sometimes preferred a softer, more vulnerable lover. But he would have to make sure to tease him later by finding out how much disgusting fat was where by feel, but only because sight could not be trusted for such things.

However, for now he simply popped open the button and allowed America's trousers to fall open. He gently prodded at the fabric to widen the opening and allow better access to the younger nation's rapidly hardening vital regions. England slowly traced the outline of his cock through the fabric of his boxers. He undid the button on the undergarments and pulled his partner's member free.

Then, America did something unexpected. He placed his own hand on England's groin. The Briton's breath caught. He had been so intensely focused on teasing the other man he had been neglecting his own erection, struggling to free itself from the confines of his clothing. America began to roughly rub it over England's trousers. He stopped for a moment to reach for England's belt.

The older nation quickly dropped America's cock and grabbed his wrist. He was too incompetent to be trusted to do something so silently.

America scowled at him, but England still began to work on freeing himself.

Of course, that was the moment when their bosses remembered that they were also in the room.

"So what do the two of you think about this agreement?" America's boss asked.

England looked back and forth between the two humans, as though puzzling over the best way to put his idea while really he was just trying to think of something that wasn't _"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. They've noticed what we're doing. My life is over. My dignity is gone. I'll move somewhere far, far away and pretend to be human for a generation or three. Hopefully no one will write this down, or else I'll have to be in hiding for the rest of my life. Maybe Wales can run the UK. He just needs to cut his hair and get a better accent and everyone'll think he's me. What's-his-name can pretend to be America and we can run off to somewhere safe. Maybe Switzerland will let us stay with him as refugees. Oh fuck-"_

"I think that England and I are gonna need to talk about it for a while. We've gotta think of the long term and stuff, Mr. President." America said.

Everyone looked at America with complete shock on their face. Their bosses probably didn't think that the boy was capable of rational thought. England, who knew better, was in awe that he managed to do so while in the middle of receiving and trying to give a good wanking.

"A-Alright," America's boss said, "We'll send you an e-mail of the revised documents so you two can reference them. We can meet back here this time tomorrow."

"Thanks," America said, flashing them a Hollywood grin.

The two politicians got up and walked out the door, still too taken aback by America's sudden burst of intelligence to care if either of their countries were coming with them.

As the door shut, America let out a laugh, "Awesome! They're gone!" He smiled at England, but that intelligence was still gleaming in those deep blue eyes.

"_Dear God, Take me now," _England thought. Then he smacked his forehead for doing so.

"What's wrong, babe?" America asked.

"Why are you only useful at times like this?" The older nation snapped to cover his embarrassment.

America laughed, "Because morons have more fun!"

England grabbed his tie and pulled him forward so that he could shut him up by gagging him with their tongues.

Even though they had turned towards each other, it was still kind of an awkward position, so England ended up on America's lap. …But that was only because the idiot was too heavy to sit on _his _lap and too lazy to stand while making out. It also allowed him to give England the relief of loosening his trousers and freeing him from his briefs.

England threw his head back and allowed his eyes to flutter closed as America's wide, calloused hand closed around him. There were shockwaves rushing though his entire body. If it had felt even half this good while England was stroking America, he was amazed that he hadn't cried out. N-not that he was actually impressed by _America. _He was just- Oh fuck it. He was sitting in the boy's lap, being stroked hard and fast. He couldn't bring himself to care about his dignity anymore, especially since he was only trying to justify his actions to himself.

England stood and dragged America up with him. The chair clattered to the ground behind them, but neither really cared because then they were kissing again. Although, maybe kissing wasn't the right word. However, England wasn't sure what was more accurate: trying to suck each other's faces off or trying to use their tongues to choke each other, so kissing was good enough. Every now and again they would instinctually buck in towards each other, causing their painfully hard erections to rub.

America pulled away, but kept both hands on the back of England's neck "Oh, babe, I need you now."

The older nation blushed, as though embarrassment were even possible at this point, and nodded. He slid his hands from where they were, behind America's back and keeping them pressed together, to pop the buttons on his partner's jacket and dress shirt open. He barely even noticed America doing the same thing to him, choosing instead to focus on each inch of skin as it appeared from behind the other man's shirt. It was so lovely to see the body that England had been fantasizing about every night finally come into view in the real world. Once he reached the bottom button, America shucked both the shirt and the jacket, leaving him naked from the waist up. England couldn't help but stare. He looked fantastic, a little bit chubby or not. Even though the muscles on his arms and chest may have been a bit smaller, he was still very well-built. Every inch of skin was just lightly tanned and flawless.

England lifted his hands and placed them upon America's shoulders, feeling the powerful muscles beneath. He closed his eyes and slid his hands up and down, feeling every hill and valley, every callus, every hair...

He was about to go on to exploring his lover's torso when those strong hands wrapped around his wrists. He opened his eyes to see a very strained America.

"No," he said, "Later."

England scoffed, but opened his briefcase to search for the lube he carried for such occasions anyway, "Eager aren't you?"

America scowled "I would've let you do it if you hadn't been so desperate you needed to start jerking me off before the meeting was over! Now come on, I wanna fuck." He tugged on England's jacket and it fell off, taking his shirt with it.

"Now America," England said in his parent voice (which he knew America hated hearing, especially in bed), dangling the lube in front of his face, "What is it that we do?"

America rolled his eyes, "We make love; not fuck."

"Good boy," England said, allowing the younger nation to snatch the bottle.

"How do you want it?" America asked.

England looked around at the room, furnished with nothing but a table, some chairs, and a few fake plants, "Not too many good options, are there?"

"We could use the table."

"No," England said, "I-I don't want to be face down."

America smiled, and England knew he realized it meant that England wanted to look at him. Thankfully, he made no comment on it.

"How about the wall? I can hold you up no problem."

"Yes," England said, scowling, "you and that monstrous strength of yours that will probably give me a concussion."

"I'll protect your head," America said, leaning on the table to take off his socks and shoes.

England sighed and did likewise, "This is a bad idea."

"You _always _say that."

"Well, when was the last time you had a good idea?"

America let out a low whistle and pushed down his trousers, "Well, the time with the peanut butter, and the time with the picture frame, then there was that thing involving the whisk, the desk calendar, and the-"

"Alright fine, which wall?"

America laughed and stepped out of the cloth around his ankles. He kissed England and guided him backwards until they were against the outside wall (England gave a sidelong glance to make sure that the curtains were indeed shut. Thankfully, they were). America rid England of the last of his clothing and wrapped his arms around his waist.

"You ready?" He asked.

England nodded.

"Alright, up we go!" America's grip tightened and England was lifted a few inches off the ground to allow him to more easily wrap his legs around America's waist. America kept one hand around England's middle, but the other somehow managed to cover itself in lube because a few moments later a slick, cold digit entered him. England squirmed, trying to get more of it. While his lover was gone he had been much fonder of vibrators than he'd like to admit and was used to things much larger than one finger being inside.

"Damn, England," America huffed, sliding a second in, "You're still good at this. Who've you been practicing with? I should get 'em something nice."

England blushed bright red, "I can sleep with whoever I damn well please while you're not around, and I don't need to report it to you."

America looked at him confusedly before a smile broke across his face, "Aw babe, you've been good to me this whole time? You're so cute, Iggy!"

"I am nothing of the sort! Just because I don't need to tell you who it is I choose to bed-" England was cut off as America slid a third finger into him and he gave up talking in favor of shivering.

"I got it, sweetheart," America whispered, alternating between spreading his fingers and mercilessly harassing England's prostate.

England clutched him for dear life. Vibrators, his own fingers, even when he had bothered sleeping with other nations, nothing came close to this feeling. There was just something about _America _that made him go mad at the lightest touch, much less _this. _

"I-I think I'm ready," England finally said once he had regained control of his tongue.

"Okay," America nodded.

He used the hand that wasn't supporting England to line himself up and help guide just the tip inside. It was infuriating on the other end. England had waited six months to be with America again, and now they were right on the edge and he had to wait. There wasn't even really a good reason for it. Even after America had slid his hand behind England's head to protect it, he just stared. England bristled. He didn't need to put up with this!

"Are you going to bloody move or do I need to do every-"

"You're beautiful," America said.

"I'm sorry?" England asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You're beautiful, I love you, and I want you."

England felt yet another blush. Blast his pale complexion!

America leaned forward to take his lips in a kiss and at the same time pushed up and in. England gasped into his mouth. Suddenly he was perfectly filled. No matter what, America always fit him flawlessly. It was just like how when later in the visit when England would inevitably top America would feel absolutely heavenly around him. France and Italy would probably say it was because of true love or something barmy like that, but England knew better. After all, it was just… just…

Well, he didn't have time to think of things like that. Not when America was using up what little patience he had to keep himself from abusing England's insides. The older nation rolled his hips, not quite trusting his voice, especially while his tongue was wrapped around America's.

America laughed into the kiss and began to thrust fast and hard and passionately. England let out a little noise that was far higher than he would claim later on, and America went from tangling tongues to more or less just panting into his lover's mouth. England returned in kind, barely having the presence to hold on to America.

It was always like this while they were together, always. No matter what sort of kink they came up with, it was always only foreplay because the second that they started to make love there was nothing else in the world but pleasure and friction. Both would rather die than admit it, but they adored the feeling. There was no division, no distraction, just love and passion. There was something almost sickeningly pure about it, sickeningly cliché, but also sickeningly _true. _England could barely remember who he was or where he was until he felt America release within him and he felt himself empty all over their stomachs not a moment later.

America fell slowly to his knees, not able to support them anymore. England didn't move. He just sat there, arms around America with the other nation's now-soft member inside of him. It took several moments before either could trust their knees enough to stand.

"We're a bloody mess," England said, once the two of them were untangled, "How on earth are we going to get back to your apartment?"

"Don't worry!" America said, he ran over to his briefcase and opened it, "A hero always has his towel! It's the most important rule other than not panicking." He pulled the cloth out and held it above his head like a trophy.

England rolled his eyes, "That craze ended years ago, America. And it wasn't even your series to begin with."

"So?" America asked, wiping up the spend on his stomach and around his cock before walking back over. He knelt in front of England, "It was yours. It was a story one of _your _people wrote about robots and aliens and going across the galaxy and it was all funny as hell, which is everything that _I _like. It's special, England."

The older nation looked away and snatched the towel, using it to clean himself up. They dressed in silence, America looking at him and grinning and England looking away. The two of them managed to escape the building with no fuss. They got onto the metro and rode until they were out of the city and could get into America's monstrosity of a car and drive to his old Virginia plantation. Once they were both seated in the SUV, America eased his hand on top of England's. The other nation huffed.

Stupid unforgivable sweetness. Stupid blatant cheesiness. Stupid unfair hotness. Stupid America.

He let the hand stay there the entire ride.


End file.
